


Down For The Count And I'm Drowning And I'm Helpless

by patdkitten



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Barista Louis, F/M, Famous Harry, M/M, Mention of Friends with Benefits, Non-Famous Louis, Sexting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-08 08:06:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6846367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patdkitten/pseuds/patdkitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Staring costs extra, mate,” he says, perfectly cheeky. Harry didn't know he found cheek sexy, but it's definitely a turn on. He's working up a response, turn on the Harry Styles trademark charm, when he hears a small whirring sound. Somehow, in his approach, Harry'd missed the ears perched on the barista's head. Now that he's aware of them, though, the dark brown fuzzy ears tipped in black twitch in his direction with another quiet whir. They remind him of the maid cafe he went to once in Japan, but while they hadn't been attractive to him there, on this barista, they're as sexy as the cheek.</p><p>Yeah, Harry could definitely use a booty call. Maybe if he's lucky, the barista's getting off soon and would be interested in getting off with him...? He can dream, at least.</p><p>---<br/>Harry Styles is an international pop star who suffers from insomnia, and Louis is the sassy little barista in fox ears and tail that won't get out of Harry's head. And the sexting is pretty damn great, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down For The Count And I'm Drowning And I'm Helpless

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt:  
> Coffee&Cafe Shop AU: Where Louis a barista who works the graveyard shift and Harry is the international pop star with insomnia who goes to the shop so late to avoid a crowd. Louis is his normal sassy self and is a breath of fresh air because he either has no idea who Harry is or he doesn't care and Harry finds himself falling in love with him all the same.  
> (I absolutely hope I did it justice)
> 
> \- Title from Helpless from the musical Hamilton  
> \- beta'd by the awesome T  
> \- cheerleaded by the awesome S
> 
> Other notes:  
> The friends with benefits mentioned in the tags is the Grimshaw and Hendall mentioned in the ships. There's no FWB for Larry to be found in this fic, and definitely a happy ending.  
> Louis' ears are called Necomimi ears and can be found [here](http://www.amazon.com/NeuroSky-8037-003-Necomimi/dp/B007YNBOJM/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1463204719&sr=8-2&keywords=necomimi+ears), with [these](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00TAC2142?psc=1) covers. His tail can be found [here](http://www.amazon.com/Pawstar-Furry-Unisex-Costume-Cosplay/dp/B01A7VWJJG/ref=lp_8388700011_1_12?srs=8388700011&ie=UTF8&qid=1463204831&sr=8-12) (the link takes you to the blue/white; Louis' tail is brown/white).

Harry can't sleep. That, in itself, isn't unusual; he's got a few prescription bottles in his medicine cabinet from a few doctors that are specifically for his insomnia. But Harry doesn't want to be dependent on those drugs the way he's seen a few of his fellow pop stars become. So he suffers with the bouts of insomnia. It has produced some of his biggest hits, so he's pretty sure that his team just ignores the damage that not sleeping does to him. All in the name of money.

The point is, Harry's staring up at his ceiling and wishing he could fall asleep for once. He toys with the idea of calling Kendall - they do have a friends with benefits arrangement behind closed doors while gossip blogs and tabloids publicly wonder if they're actually a couple - but decides against it almost as soon as the thought occurs to him. It's not that Kendall wouldn't be down for a booty call, although it's probably the middle of the day for her in LA while it's fuck it all o'clock in London; it's just. He's pretty sure that if he does decide to get off to help himself sleep, he doesn't want it to be with a woman.

He's got his phone in his hand before he even registers grabbing it, and wonders who exactly he intends to call. He could call Nick – much like Kendall, Nick's always down for a booty call, and he'd probably twist it favorably for himself – but he finds that he doesn't want a booty call. Well. He _does_ , because getting off would help him sleep, but.

God, maybe what he's really looking for is a relationship. And that, _that_ is not a thought for when you're unable to fall asleep, Jesus fucking _Christ_.

He's dressed and out the door before his brain, still caught up in the idea of being in a relationship, catches up. He's not really sure where he's planning on going, but he soon finds himself at a small coffee shop up the road from his flat.

Harry's never actually been in this tiny cafe before, although he's heard pretty good things about it from Kendall. She makes a habit of visiting it whenever she's in London, and then makes an equal habit of taunting him with the decadent looking muffins and sweet looking iced coffees she gets from it. So he's been pretty curious to try it; he just hasn't gotten around to until now.

It's so late that the place is pretty empty, a fact he finds he's grateful for because he doesn't know if he'd like the general public seeing him suffering from insomnia.

There are two people lounging around the counter and. Holy shit, he knows _exactly_ who he wants to pull tonight.

He makes his way over, focused on the barista leaning over the counter with a playful grin on his impish features as he talks to his companion. He is definitely one of the most beautiful people that Harry's ever seen, and Harry spends his time surrounded by fellow pop stars and supermodels. He's got Taylor Swift, Beyonce, and David Beckham in his contacts and none of them compare to this barista.

As he approaches, the barista's ocean blue eyes slide from his companion to Harry and the grin slides smoothly into a smirk as he straightens up.

“Staring costs extra, mate,” he says, perfectly cheeky. Harry didn't know he found cheek sexy, but it's definitely a turn on. He's working up a response, turn on the Harry Styles trademark charm, when he hears a small whirring sound. Somehow, in his approach, Harry'd missed the ears perched on the barista's head. Now that he's aware of them, though, the dark brown fuzzy ears tipped in black twitch in his direction with another quiet whir. They remind him of the maid cafe he went to once in Japan, but while they hadn't been attractive to him there, on this barista, they're as sexy as the cheek.

Yeah, Harry could definitely use a booty call. Maybe if he's lucky, the barista's getting off soon and would be interested in getting off with him...? He can dream, at least.

He must have taken too long to answer because the barista places both hands – is that pale pink nail polish because Harry is definitely down with people being comfortable breaking gender barriers – and leans forward to get in Harry's face. This close, Harry can count each and every long lash that's framed by gold eyeliner and makes the barista's stormy ocean eyes pop.

“I'm not on the menu, mate. I suggest you either order something else, or kindly fuck right off back out the door.”

Okay. _Okay_. Attitude and language have never been high on Harry's list of turn ons, much like freaky mechanical ears, but he really, _really_ wants to spread this mouthy little barista out on his king sized bed and see just how filthy the man's mouth can get. Hell, he'll even let him keep the ears on.

But he's also not used to people telling him to fuck off, because people usually kiss his arse. After all, he _is_ Harry Styles, international pop star.

He blinks, glancing over at the man standing next to him. The barista's friend is insanely attractive, along the lines of the supermodels and pop stars Harry's used to, but his attractiveness pales in comparison to the barista's. And this might be a problem, because Harry's pretty sure that he's now going to compare _everyone_ to this barista, and he doesn't even know the guy's name. What coffee shop lets their employees work without name tags? Shouldn't Harry know the name of the man with the mouth he wants to put his dick in?

“Don't you,” Harry begins, stops, restarts his question. He doesn't even bother to hide his confusion. “Don't you know who I am?”

The barista snorts loudly, whirling around dramatically, and a large poofy fox tail in the same colour scheme as the ears swishes behind him. “You're the man who's getting the sugariest, tallest, most expensive drink we have because you're too busy staring to order.” He throws a look over his shoulder, and those are _definitely_ bedroom eyes and Harry is so, so _fucked_. “And don't stare at the goods. You're not getting them.”

“I'm not staring at anything,” Harry lies, knowing that his eyes are definitely following the curve of the barista's back and arse. He can't be blamed, alright? The fox tail just draws attention to the barista's curvy arse. He's only a man with an eye for detail. “You really don't know who I am?”

“Should I?” The barista returns, sending a cheeky grin in Harry's direction before turning his attention to making Harry's order. He also continues his conversation with his friend like Harry had never interrupted in the first place, hips swinging to a tune only the barista knows and causing the tail to swish back and forth.

Harry's so busy trying to figure out what it is about this barista, who is literally everything Harry's not used to in his world from the attitude to the sass he's throwing, that has him so attracted that he misses when the barista sets the cup down in front of him. The name 'Louis' is written in crisp handwriting facing him, with a 'x)' face to punctuate it, and Harry looks up at the barista in confusion.

“I don't remember giving you my name, but it's not Louis.”

The barista's eyes roll so hard that Harry's surprised they don't wind up either stuck inside the man's skull or on the floor like a pair of dice. “You're so dumb.” He swipes a muffin from the display case, expertly putting it in a little paper bag and setting it next to the coffee. “Now kindly get the fuck out of here.”

Harry wants to protest that he hasn't even paid for his order, but the barista turns his back on him once more and moves to the far end of the counter like Harry no longer exists in his world. He finds himself turning to the barista's friend, only to find the man smiling at him.

“Guess your stuff is on the house, then, huh? Good deal for you.”

“Guess so.” Harry makes a face, grabbing his coffee and the small bag. So much for trying to score with the barista, he supposes.

It's not until he's at the door that he realises that on the other side of the cup, directly opposite the 'Louis x)' is a phone number. Oh. _Oh_.

 

 

 

Harry Styles, International Pop Star, leaves with his order and Zayn, curse him to hell and back, bursts out laughing. Louis busies himself cleaning the machine he'd used to make the pop star's order as he waits for the laughter to die out.

“What on Earth were you thinking?” Zayn gets out between giggles. Louis needs better friends, and better coworkers, because this is unreasonable. “Sassing someone famous like that?”

To be fair, Louis is pretty sure that nineteen-year-old Louis would be scandalised by twenty-three-year old Louis sassing the pop star that had starred in many a wet dream. But he's not about to admit to said wet dreams to a coworker, even if everyone here is practically family.

“I treat all our customers like that, Z,” Louis says, the very picture of reason as he wipes down the metal of the machine. “As long as I'm not outright rude, Payno's well aware I sass everyone. Loads of them think it's a riot.”

“But a _pop star_.” Zayn stresses, and _really_ , he doesn't need to be stressing the fact that Louis just sassed Harry Styles of all people. Zayn pauses before eying Louis shrewdly. “Why _did_ you put your name on his cup anyway?”

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” Louis comments primly, throwing his dirty rag in the nearby sink. He's not about to admit to wet dreams about Harry Styles, famous celebrity, and he's certainly not going to admit that he was cheeky enough to give the man his phone number. “And don't you have somewhere to be? Your shift ended a while ago.”

Before Zayn can answer the question, Louis' phone goes off with a scolding 'Lou' in his manager's voice. It's only hilarious to Louis that his text tone is Liam Payne scolding him, and he's super proud of it. Prior to the scolding, it had been a loud farting noise that Liam had told him was unprofessional in the coffee shop if Louis insisted on having his phone's sound on.

Liam Payne is not a fun man, and Louis is going to throw the spare change of clothing Liam has in the office in the cooler at some point during his shift.

First things first, though. Louis digs his phone out of his pocket, glancing at it. There are a few texts from an unknown number, and when he slides his phone unlocked, he finds a dim picture of his phone number written on the cup that had just exited with Harry Styles. It's coupled with an “oh, YOU'RE Louis then.” text.

Louis can't help the smile that crosses his face, and pointedly ignores Zayn as his coworker actually answers his question.

**Still an idiot, frog man.**

 

 

Louis isn't entirely sure how, but after that first text exchange, it becomes A Thing with Harry Styles. He doesn't tell his coworkers about it, even when Harry begins showing up nightly whenever Louis is working (he refuses to leave with free food or coffees after that first time and Louis might actually be endeared). He certainly doesn't tell his mum or his sisters in the multitude of daily texts or the weekly phone calls back home, although when The Thing with Harry Styles turns a bit cheeky, Louis is definitely glad that no one in his family accidentally receives his sexts with a pop star.

Because holy shit. When did his life start including sexts with a pop star?

It's not that Louis has never exchanged sexts before. He's been in relationships. He's definitely been a booty call. He just didn't think he'd be exchanging dirty texts with a pop star.

An internationally known pop star, no less.

With the dirty texts, and a few dirty pictures that Louis wants to have pasted to his ceiling when he gets himself off, comes even more wet dreams. With the wet dreams comes more rubbing one out.

The Thing has been going on for a little more than two and a half months, with constant flirting and sassing in person and increasingly dirty texts, and Louis' cock is feeling more than a bit chafed with the daily masturbation. He really wants to go home with Harry, or have Harry come home with him, and put their words into action.

And okay, if Louis is being a bit honest, he's also a little in love with the pop star at this point. Their conversations aren't _all_ filthy, and he thinks Harry's plenty witty.

But the conversations. The _conversations_. Louis has been a lot of things in his time, but he's never considered being a groupie. But he really, _really_ wants to be _Harry's_ groupie. Based on the sexts, the conversations and the obvious physical attraction they've both got for the other, Louis being a Harry Styles groupie would not be farfetched.

But there's a problem with that: Louis knows _exactly_ who Harry is, he just keeps letting Harry think he doesn't. He's not entirely sure how Harry feels about that, has never actually been confronted. He just gives Harry sass whenever Harry tries to steer the conversation to what Harry does for a living.

He thinks about just coming clean, wondering if Harry'd be okay with it. If Harry'd be okay with Louis just pretending he doesn't know who Harry really is.

But then Harry comes into the cafe every few nights, and Louis just. He pushes his wanting to come clean, to admit that _hey_ , he kinda wants to be Harry's groupie. Maybe even more than just a groupie. He doesn't want to ruin their Thing by admitting he's lying.

As the three month mark of The Thing approaches, not that Louis has been keeping track (he's totally been counting the days), Louis makes up his mind. He's _going_ to tell Harry he knows who Harry really is, and that he really just wants to go home with Harry to his plush flat and shag until neither of them can remember their names. And maybe even the love part. He even goes about making plans for it: he convinces Liam to let him have that night off, stocks up on condoms and lube, and has multiple pep talks in the mirror.

He can _do_ this, and Harry will be okay with it. Harry must like him if he's sexting back, right? Right.

Louis is in the middle of one of those pep talks the morning of the three month mark, looking at himself in the mirror and telling himself that it will go well, and he'll be having wild animal sex with a bloody pop star by nightfall, when his phone chimes with an incoming text.

Harry must've been picking up on the vibes Louis is putting out into the universe because that's who the text is from. And then it all goes downhill from there.

 

 

 

Harry's hands are sweaty as he opens the door to the cafe he's been going to for the past three months. The coffee and baked goods are great, but he's really been coming for the perky barista with the mechanical ears and furry tails. He can't help it; Louis is gorgeous, smart, witty and doesn't fawn over Harry like everyone else in Harry's life. Louis keeps him on his toes, is what he's saying.

But if he's anything like his sexts are in bed, well. Harry is only human. And he will _definitely_ let Louis keep those ears and tail of his on.

Louis doesn't make Harry nervous like this, though. Louis makes Harry many things, including all levels of horny, but he doesn't make him nervous.

There are two reasons Harry's nervous and he can already see both halves of one of the reasons waiting for him in the cafe as he enters. The pap hired by Taylor's team is sitting in a corner booth, not so discreetly taking pictures of Taylor Swift herself studying the menu and trying to look like she's a regular here and not waiting for her faux-date to show up. He knows that Taylor needs the promo for her upcoming album, and what better way to get it than a public romantic relationship with the current hottest pop star to come out of the UK?

He tries to discreetly scan the cafe for a glimpse the other reason as he makes his way over to Taylor, making a show of sliding his arm around her trim little waist and kissing her cheek. He hasn't heard from Louis since he sent a text asking if the barista was working tonight, and he hopes that the other man's okay. When Taylor's PA had called Harry's to start the seeding for the latter Haylor – which sounded stupid when Harry's PA had told him – Harry had a few things he'd wanted in the contract, and one of them was for the first faux-date to be at this cafe.

Harry has plans for after his first faux-date with Taylor. Plans that include a certain gorgeous barista that has invaded Harry's mind for the past three months in a way that Kendall, Nick, or anyone else Harry's slept with publicly or privately has never done. Plans that include taking said gorgeous barista home with him instead of Taylor.

The problem is, he hasn't heard from Louis and that is definitely _not_ Louis standing behind the counter. During his visits, Harry's met most of Louis' coworkers: Zayn, the beautiful man from that first night, who sets up poetry readings every Wednesday night and karaoke every Friday night that usually ends around the time Louis gets into work; Niall, who makes all the delicious baked goods Harry's come to love; and Perrie, the pretty, perky barista, who comes in super early for the morning rush to help Louis out before her own shift starts.

This man, though, Harry does not know. He's certainly handsome and incredibly well built, in a rescues kittens from trees and probably spends his nights as a sexy firefighter sort of way. He's also the opposite of Louis: where Louis is very much a t-shirt and jeggings sort of barista under his apron with his ears and tails, this man is crisply ironed slacks and a starched polo. Also different from Louis is the nametag affixed to the man's apron, naming him as 'Liam, manager'. This, then, must be the manager Louis has told him about a few times, and if anyone knows where Louis would be, Harry assumes the manager would.

Liam's brown eyes flicker over to the pap in the corner as Harry and Taylor finally approach the counter, but if he's annoyed by the man, he's too professional to let it show as he focuses back on the two celebrities.

“What can I get started for you two, then?” he asks, like he's facing a normal couple and not a soon-to-be Power Couple. Harry wonders if it's just cafe policy because Louis treats him the same way, but whenever Harry tries to tell him who he is, because it _should_ be obvious he's Harry Styles World Famous Pop Star, Louis wiggles out of the conversation.

Taylor leans into Harry, casting a backward glance toward the pap briefly. “What would you recommend, Harry? You've been here loads.”

It's on the tip of his tongue to say it, say his regular that Louis knows by heart at this point and that Harry doesn't even have to ask for anymore, but what comes out instead surprises him. “Where's Louis tonight?”

It clearly surprises the two of them as well. Taylor stiffens a bit and Harry can see she's trying to resist glancing back at the pap to make sure he's only taking pictures and not recording any of this. Liam, for his part, blinks several times.

“He wanted the night off,” Liam finally says. “Said he had plans. Hot date or something.”

Oh. _Oh_. That would explain why Louis didn't respond to his text this morning, right? Busy focusing on getting ready for some other lucky guy and not the person he's been flirting with for the past three months. It's not like Harry's got any claim on Louis, after all, and the sexts and flirting hadn't gone anywhere, but. Harry thought that maybe he and Louis had something important between them. He knows he's pretty gone for Louis, can't think of anyone that _isn't_ Louis, and considering how often they talked, he was pretty sure Louis felt the same.

But he guesses not.

Harry considers just calling the whole thing off in a fit, leave Taylor right here in the cafe and spark the rumours of a breakup early, and go home to bury himself in his bed. But somehow, he finds it in him to smile at Liam's questioning look and put in his regular order. Taylor orders the same, and he pays for them both, the proper gentleman that his mum raised him to be.

He tries to push thoughts of Louis out of his head as he and Taylor take a seat at a cosy little corner table that the pap can get pictures of. Tries to focus on Taylor like she's the only person he wants right now. He doesn't succeed because he gets so buried in his own thoughts, and thoughts of Louis, that he doesn't even notice when Taylor gets up and makes her way back to the counter.

The movement causes him to start, coming back to reality. He notices that he's been off in his own thoughts for nearly half an hour, and the pap has since left after getting what Harry hopes are plenty of pictures to seed the start of Taylor's shiny new relationship.

Taylor comes back a few moments later with a small paper bag in one hand and a slip of receipt paper in the other. She holds both items out to him and he stares at them in her red tipped fingers before looking up at her questioningly.  
“The pap's gone and you're a lousier date than I thought you'd be,” she says, eyes rolling in clear annoyance. “Kendall said you'd be a lot more interesting than this, but your mind is clearly elsewhere. So.” She shakes the items in her hands impatiently at him and it takes a moment for him to realise the slip of receipt paper holds an address to a flat that's not far from the coffee shop. In fact, he passes the building when he walks to the shop.

“Whose address is that?” He asks as he finally takes both items from her, and he sees the 'Louis' in crisp writing just as she stabs her finger at it.

“Maybe he's home from his hot date or something,” she says as she leans down to kiss his cheek. “Good luck.”

 

 

 

Louis had a lot of plans tonight. Keyword: had. None of them had included a pint of ice cream and a Pretty Little Liars marathon and yet, here he is.

“I am a pathetic wretch,” he announces mournfully to the empty flat. His voice echoes a bit before falling flat. Maybe he should get a cat or something, some furry creature that will love him between his relationships and hookups, fill the void in the gaps. He could even name it Harry after a certain pop star millionaire who broke his heart. Which is especially pathetic, because Harry couldn't possibly know how Louis felt since they never actually talked about things like feelings.

He's considering his second pint of the night and another episode of Pretty Little Liars when there's a knock on the door. He blinks at it because it's late and, although he hasn't touched his phone since that text from Harry about a bloody date with bloody international pop idol Taylor Swift, he's fairly certain that none of his friends are awake or sober enough to come visit his sorry arse. Then again, he's friends with Niall and the Irish lad had once made him drunken chicken noodle soup while the cook was drunk himself just because Louis had been feeling poorly. That was an experience. And a lot more dishes to be washed than he would've expected, but at least the soup was good.

There's another knock before he manages to pull himself from the depths of his couch, but he gets to the door and opens it before there's a third.

Only to find himself staring at the exact person he's been moping over and drowning himself in gripping teenage drama and fudge ice cream for. He really hopes there's no fudge on his face right now because that would be _super_ embarrassing.

“You, um,” Harry starts, hesitates. He glances to both sides like he's expecting to be noticed in the hallway and some part of Louis' brain that is still rational thinks that Louis should invite the man in. Before he's seen and Louis has to explain to his neighbors why a super famous celebrity is standing at his door.

“You-” Harry begins again, but Louis cuts in quickly.

“Do you wanna come in?” Louis steps aside, like he thinks Harry won't follow his train of thought. Even though his train of thought is also currently derailing at the sight of Harry, but that's neither here nor there.

Harry shuffles in, looking around the flat a bit and Louis feels a twinge of embarrassment. It's not much, but it's _his_. But at the same time, Harry's a pop star and used to finer things than a bachelor's flat like Louis has.

As Louis shuts the door behind him, Harry finally gets out what he'd been trying to say. “You weren't at work. I was expecting to see you.”

Louis considers lying, seriously toys with the idea, before taking a deep breath and deciding that honesty is his best policy. He's lied enough to Harry, after all. He slumps against the door, twining his fingers together and keeping his eyes on the patterns his linked fingers make. He doesn't want to see Harry's face when the truth comes out. “We've been talking for three months and I haven't been entirely honest with you.”

He's lying to himself; he really wants to know what look passes over Harry's face when he comes clean. It's not as bad as he fears when he sneaks a glance up: Harry's just quietly watching him. There's no judgement there, just quiet understanding. Or maybe he's just seeing what he wants to see.

“I knew who you were. That you were this big star, but I couldn't understand why you'd talk to some nobody like me. And that if you knew that _I_ knew who you were, you'd stop talking to me.” He grimaces as it comes out of his mouth. He's never admitted that to himself, never mind out loud. Admitting he wanted to be Harry's groupie is one thing; admitting that he doesn't want Harry to stop talking to him is something else entirely.

He sneaks another glance upwards. This time, Harry's smiling at him.

“You were sassy and sarcastic to me, knowing who I was?”

Despite the mini panic attack that coming clean like this causes to creep up on him, Louis can't help the grin that crosses his face or the ghost of his usual sassiness coming through. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I had to be worshiping the ground you walk on.”

And, despite the awkwardness of the moment, Harry bursts out laughing. The sound feels like a balm to Louis' frayed nerves and calms the ensuing panic attack. “I'm really glad you weren't. It was refreshing.” He reaches out, taking one of Louis' hands in his. “So you weren't working tonight because you knew who I was?”

Louis can't help the blush that crosses his face at that. He doesn't drop his hand, opting instead to tangle his fingers with Harry's. Harry doesn't seem to mind; in fact, the other man looks pretty pleased. “No, I. The last three months have been _amazing_ talking to you. And I had all these plans, you know? I was gonna come clean about knowing you were famous, I was going to tell you I liked you, and kinda. Hoping you'd take me home.”

Harry presses close unexpectedly at that. This close, the grin he gives Louis as he presses him against the door is blinding. Louis would miss being able to see, but he wouldn't mind that grin being the last thing he ever sees. “You like me?”

Louis bursts out in giggles; like the blush, he can't help that either. “That's your takeaway, mate? I like you?”

He goes to push against Harry's shoulder, but Harry catches his wrist in his free hand with a playful grin. “I'm pretty fond of you, you know. Maybe even more than fond. Maybe even love. So it's nice to hear that you feel the same.”

Louis bites down on his lip, suddenly feeling a lot bigger than himself hearing that Harry might love him. That Harry feels the same as him. He wants to run to the nearest window, yell to all of London that an _international pop star_ loves him. Instead, though, he uses Harry's grasp on him to pull him close for a slow kiss.

 

 

 

Harry pulls open the door to his favorite little coffee shop, pretending he doesn't see the pap taking pics of him from the inside of the shop, pretending that he doesn't need the publicity for his upcoming album that's heavily focused on love songs this time around. He continues his pretending as he makes his way toward the counter, toward the cheekily grinning barista who's trying to pretend like he's focused on cleaning one of the machines. The barista's mechanical ears twitch and whir as Harry leans against the counter.

“Excuse me, I'd like an iced caramel macchiato with soy milk, heavy on the whipped cream and the espresso.” Harry hopes the pap gets both of their grins as Louis turns toward him. They've been dating a year now and no matter how often Harry comes in here, or sees Louis at home, it still feels like that first day.

“Does this look like a Starbucks to you?” Louis' grin grows even more cheeky as he walks to the counter to lean into Harry.

 _Yeah_ , Harry thinks as Louis leans further in to kiss him slowly and the pap takes all the pictures he needs. Harry's upcoming album is entirely dedicated to and about this sassy little barista, it's being projected to be more popular than the last Taylor Swift album, but every day with his Louis feels just like that first day they met.


End file.
